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H. _.„_../ l.y i / i.\.' 






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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Shelf -4^.15 

UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. 



FROM SUNRISE TO SUNSET 




THE OLD \ILLAGE CHOIR" S,;- /'age 114 



FROM SUNRISE TO SUNSET 



CURTIS GUILD 



ocean" "AIIKOAD again" "BRITONS AND 
MUSCOVITES" ETC 



IVITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHARLES COPELAND 



BOSTON 

LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 

I o Milk street 

1894 



%P28 1893 1 

"" ''"'"WASH'' 






CoPYKiGHT, 1893, HV Curtis Guild 



Alt riirhia reserved 



FkOM SUNKISli TO Sl-NSET 



/Z-l)Z^d^ 



^ocIiiDcU Hn& (iTburcbill 

BOSTON 



PREFACE 

SEVERAL of the poems in this vohime were first 
published in the " Knickerbocker Magazine " of 
New York, during a period extending from 1850 to 
1853, when the author was a contributor to that 
magazine, whicli was edited by Louis Gaylord Clark. 

Others appeared Irom time to time many years 
ago in different literary periodicals of the da}'. 

They are now collected for the first time, and with 
the addition of a few productions of later date, 
ofiered to the public in the present form. 

Boston 1S93 



CONTENTS 



Death of the Mohawk 

A Memory 

Song of the Ax\'n, . 

Our Heirloom . 

A Cavalry Carol 

Death in " The Diggings 

Thanksgiving Night . 

Homeward Bound 

The Test of Time . 

To AN Antique Goblet 

Mementos . 

A Rhine Legend 

A Western Idyl 

Maid of the Mountain 

The Village Church Hei 

The Mouniain Cascade 

A Turkish Bag-a-ielle 

A SCKFRISE PaR'IV 



PAGE 
13 



37 
42 

47 
56 
62 
68 
76 
84 
95 

I ro 

I I 2 
116 
I 20 
125 



OCCASIONAL POEMS 

The Great Peace Jubilee 

Boston to California .... 

The Commercial Club Festival at Chicago 

To Oliver Wendell Holmes . 

The Old Schoolboys ok Bos-ion, 1889 . 

The Old Schoolboys ok Boston, 1890 . 

The Old Schoolboys of Boston, 1891 . 

The Old Schoolboys of Boston, 1892 . 



129 
132 
137 
140 

143 
150 
156 
162 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



" bv the eyes of a giki, 1\ the old village chdir " 
" High on a cliff that o'erlooked the stream " 
" Stands a li-itle rustic coitage ■) 

With a \vooubinf:-shaded door" ) 
"Heave vp the sledgk with a hearty swing 
Our Heirloom. (Illustrated Title) 
"The spruce clock saw the rusiic prihk ■) 

Of her that was my grandsire's iirihe" ) 
"Thy shining face mv father knf:w " 
"Faded imciures memory urings " 
" Like visions in a magic glass ] 

Before thee generations pass " J 
A Cavalry Carol. (Illustrated Title) 
" Charge ! the very earth is reeling j 

'Ne.ath our coursers' thund'ring tread" ) 
"Close to a rugged gash dut newly rent 

In the fair hili^ide's i;osom, stands a tent 
"The farmer s.at in his great arm-chair" 
"When faint on the plast th.vt hurried by 

Came the sound of a distant shout " 
"A fond embrace from his mother dear" 
" We'll whirl the capstan round " . 
" Far, far astern the dusky shore " . 



PAGE 

l-'roiittspiece 



29 

35 
37 
41 

43 
46 

51 

S3 
55 
57 



" Make sail, make sail ! " . 

" Sweethearts and wives the toast to-night " . 

To AN Antique Gohlet. (Illustrated Title) 

"While the grizzled old i;ak(>n, 'ihe chief of the band, ] 

Uplifts the old goblet on high in his hand" ) 

"The death chant of warriors in notes of the dirge" . 
"Bv the side of the sufferers, pallid with pain, I 

Thou hast held the pure nectar that cheered them again " ) 
"Once more in its depths the red liquor shall shine" 
Mement(_)S. (Illustrated Title) 
"Loved forms in- fancy live once more" 

"In wild WALIZ A'l THE MASQUER.'VDE " 
"A LIITLE BUNCH OF BILLET-DOUX " 

"The WHITE SURGE is thy winding sheet" 
"Once mori'. i'm kneicling al 'ihy side" 
"Vivid ligh'ining ricnt 'ihe skv " 
" Ccp clinks id cup around ihe hall" 
"And iHF Hdi.Y monks tkeir dark beads 
"And rLEDc;ED again with oaih and jf.st" 
"Shines brighj- through the festal hall" 
Tailpiece ....... 

"Thanks, friend. I will 'ligh'I', 1 need rest" 

" Knelt by my lost home an oath -io swear " 

"An' the upSHoi WAS a right s.mart fight" 

"An' Gr.acey — why, how ver starin' at the child" 

"When we were both boys in the country, you know" 

"How orr, when the mduntains wiih sunset were tipped 

Occasional Poems. (Illustrated Title) .... 



59 
6i 

67 
69 



74 
75 
76 

77 
78 
80 
82 
85 
87 
88 

91 
93 
94 
97 

lOI 

los 
109 

113 
117 
127 



FROM SUNRISE TO SUNSET 



DEATH OF THE MOHAWK 

"D ED in the sky was the setting sun. 

The monareh of chu" liis course liad run, 
And behind the hills sank down to rest. 
Far awa)' in the bright and erimsoning west. 
The rays that streamed o'er the vault ol blue 
Tinged the flying clouds with gorgeous hue, 
Like a maiden's blush, — so fair and bright 
Were the softened tints of sunset lii^ht. 



High on ;i cliff that overlooks the stream 
That shines beneath in the sunset gleam, 
A stalwart figure in hunter's dress 
Stands like a god of the wilderness. 
He leans on his gun and sees the flow 
or the broad deep stream far down below, 
While the gentle zeph\-rs of balniA' air 
Blow baek the locks ot his clustering hair. 




HIGH ON A CI.IFK THAT O'ERLOOKEl) THE STREAM " 



While thus the hunter musing stood, 
A ritle rang from the darkening wood ; 
And like arrow darting from the bow, 
Forth sprang the white man's deadly foe. 
So true had the hissing bullet sped 
That it cut a lock from the hunter's head, 
And e'er the hills with the echo rung. 
The red man's arm was round him tlung. 



Dashed tVom his hold was his riHe true 

Far down below in the waters blue ; 

In the savage hand the gleaming knife 

Was aimed at the gallant hunter's life. 

But the desperate grasp of the borderer stayed 

The hand that held the uplifted blade ; 

And with panting breath, now hand to hand, 

The white and the savage warrior stand. 



Vainly they wrestle in desperate fight 
On the cliff now gray in the fading light ; 
Each nerve is braced in the silent strife, 
Fierce was the grapple — it was for life. 
Nearer and nearer the edge they strain 
Witli heaving chest and swelling vein, 
A moment bend o'er the dizzy height. 
As they struggle on by the sunset light. 



But now from the sturdy hunter's side 
Streams forth a small but crimson tide ; 
But still does his hand with a giant's grasp 
The arm (jf the savage warrior clasp. 
For quick in the struggle the thrust was made, 
And slight was the wound of the savage blade. 
Again they strain to the precipice brink 
When slow to his knee doth the hunter sink. 



And as forward the eager savage sprung, 
High o'er the head of the white man flung, 
His form with one might}' hea\e was thrown, 
And the hunter knelt on the clifl' alone. 
His throbbing heart and panting breath 
Told of the battle for life or death. 
Brushing the drops from his pallid brow. 
He looks o'er the brink of the precipice now. 



Swirt flowed the river as e'er before 

But broad were the ripples that sought the shore 

And all was peaeelul, hushed and still, 

But the whispering- leaves and the whippoorwill. 

The hunter rose with lengthened sigh. 

And muttered prayer to the Power on high. 

Night's eurtain falls o'er hill and vale. 

As he turns again to the forest trail. 



A MEMORY 



'"\TEATH the shadow of the mountain 

That the bright brook bounds before, 
Stands a little rustic cottage 
With a woodbine-shaded door. 



Round the roof-tree and the windows 
Swallows twitter from the eaves, 

Sweetly summer breezes murmur 
'Mid the canopy of leaves. 

Peace was there, and sweet contentment 
'Neath the lowly roof was known. 

And the light hearts of the inmates 

Kini^s would give their crowns to own. 







*^i 






--/r 



■ STANDS A LITTLE RUSTIC COTTAGE 
WITH A WOODBINE-SHADEU DOOR" 



Far in foreign climes I've wandered, 

On tile vast catliedral gazed ; 
And amid its gothic grandeur 

Stood with wonderment amazed. 

Thought when light through lofty windows 

Fell in rainbows to the floor. 
Far more pleasant was the sunshine 

At that woodbine-shaded door. 

In the hall of gorgeous palace, 
'Neath tiie temple's fretted dome. 

As I stood, my thoughts have wandered 
To this happy cottage home ; 



Where the heart of youth expanded 
In hope's sunshine warm and bright, 

And no cloud of care or trial 

Dimmed life's vision with its blight. 

Years have fled and youth departed, 
Life's sunset is fading fast ; 

But in memory's hall still linger 
Pleasant pictures of the past. 



SONG OF THE ANVIL 

OING, brothers, sing to the blows we deal, 

As we forge bright blades from the writhing steel ! 
And the warrior shall of the blacksmith think 
When he hears the anviTs iron clink. 
Heave up the sledge with a hearty swing 
And the honest song of labor sing ; 
Let the clanging ring of our anvils be 
The blacksmith's chime of libeity ! 




" HEAVE UP THE SLEDGE WITH A HEAKTV SWING 



The swarthy smiths, with arms so brown, 

That swiny the great sledge up and down, — 

Their blows are strong, their sinews stout. 

And bright the sparkles dance about. 

There's lance for the tourney, and spade ibr the gra\e, 

But never a tetter to bind the slave ; 

And the chorus of their song shall be 

Strike, brothers, strike lor liberty ! 



First of weapons in Freedom's van 

Is the swinging sledge of the artisan. 

And the spark-strewn tkigs that alolt are whirled 

Herald her progress aroimd the world. 

The lorge is her temple, the liearth her throne, 

The ringing anvil her altar-stone ; 

Heart and hammer and hand — all three 

Beat together lor liberty I 




OUR l-lKIRLOOn 



OUR HEIRLOOM 

"]\/riNE ancient clock ! How long and wel 

Hast stood our homestead's sentinel ! 
Thy tireless tone has day b}' day 
Challenged each hour that passed away, 
And at its post, year after year, 
Stiti" as a grim old grenadier 
In antique sentry-box, it stands. 
Saluting time with warninir hands. 



In ancient patch and powder time, 
Wiien bells rang out a cheertul cliime. 
The spruce clock saw the rustic pride 
Ot her that was my grandsire's bride. 
The whirling wheels, around the\- race, 
As ciixling years each other chase ; 
The tripping maid now totters slow. 
The bridegroom's brow bears ajje's snow. 



28 




'THE SPRUCE CLOCK SAW THE KUSTIC PRIDE 
OF HEK THAT WAS MY GRANDSH<E'S BRHJE " 



The measured moments oo and come . 

As slowl}- swings the pendulum. 

With steady step day after da3% 

Past threescore years o'er life's highway. 

To aged man and ancient dame 

The old clock's voice is still the same ; 

Clear comes the chime of bridal morn. 

But groom and bride ! — ^\h, both are gone ! 



Our homestead's heirloom to the last. 
Dear old reminder of the past, 
Time's faithful chronicler so true, 
Th}' shining face my father knew ; 
Before thee stood in manhood's prime, 
Recalling days when man\' a time 
lie strove on tiptoe, but in Aain, 
The half thy lolly height to gain. 







THY SIlINlNt; FACE MY FATIIKK KNEW " 



When wondering- at the ma>;ic power 
That marked the time and pealed the hum 
He climbed upon the parent knee. 
The old clock's curious face to see. 
lie dreams once more at eventide 
Ot kneeling at his mother's side. 
Her gentle voice, the song she sings, 
And faded pictures memory brings 



Of years long past, when fortune smiled 
On him, a gay and tiioughtless child. 
Now round his knee his children play, 
The old clock still ticks time away. 
Swift moments, hom"s, and fleeting ^ears, 
Till one sad day is marked with tears : 
The ever tireless wheels turn on. 
Yet one more to his rest has "one. 




FADED riCTURES MEMdKV BRINGS 



Thy voice sounds cheerily and strong, 
Though it has sung the hours so long. 
Like visions in a magic glass, 
Before thee generations pass. 
The fourth — my own dear children three 
Come clustering round and asking me 
To let them all thy wonders know, 
As sire asked grandsire years ago. 



U 



<(it^ 



i)iM 







■ LIKE VISIONS IN A MAGIC GLASS, 
BEFORE THEE GENEUATIONS PASS ' 



Dear old memento of the past, 
Long may thy voice with vigor hist. 
And memories sweet to me recall 
Of youth in ancient homestead hall. 
Thy measured beat, thy warning bell, 
The onward march of time shall tell. 
Thy warning hands — they point for me 
To Heaven and to Eternity. 




36 




A CAVALRY CAROL 



A CAVALRY CAROL 

TTARK ! It is the trumpet sounding ! 

To the saddle leap, my men ! 
From our turfy couches bounding, 
Ready for the field again. 

Proudly now our chargers prancing 

Scent the battle from afar. 
And the morning sun is glancing 

On the panoply of war. 



38 



List ! The lofty hills are shaking 
With the booming cannonade, 

And a tliousand echoes waking 
To the rattling fusillade. 

Flags are waving, plumes are dancing 
To the martial roll of drums, 

And the serried line advancing 
In the pride of battle comes. 



Charge ! The very earth is reeling 
'Neath our coursers' thund'ring tread, 

Swift our sabre strokes, now dealing. 
Strew the field with gory dead. 

Cheer, my comrades ! Battles ended, 
Sheath once more the shining steel. 

Honor gained and homes defended, 
Freemen's honest pride we feel. 



40 




"CHARGE'. Uir. VKKV EARTH IS REELING 

'XEATII OUR coursers' THUND'rING TREAD " 



DEATH IN "THE DIGGINGS" 

A CROSS the flume the sun is going down; 

Bathed in its glory, tattered, stained and brown. 
Close to a rugged gash but newly rent 
In the lair hill side's bosom, stands a tent, 
And in the middle distanee you may see 
Two rough men coming from their toil, and talking 
In kindly curses, whistling and walking 
Towards it. In the shelter lies a man. 
Close to his twitching palms, an empty pan 
Filled when they left, with word of comfort spoken, 
For their harsh toil. His food is still unbroken, 
The little flask of spirits close at hand ; 
And round about the canvas shelter stand 
Shovels and miners' boots, earthworn and stained. 
Stretched here for weary days he had remained, 
Weak from the fever, helpless as a child, 
AVith naught to see without but rocky wild ; 
Witliin, these objects in his canvas room. 



42 




' CLOSE TO A KUGGED GASH BUT NEWLY RENT 
L\ THE I-AHi HILL SIDE'-S BOSOM, STANDS A TENT" 



Then came the vision of his distant home, 
And the salt tears slow trickled oV-r his cheek. 
" Oh, God ! that I should leave dear ones, to seek 
Here, in this barren land, the noldcn prize ! " 
Once more he oped his sunken weary e3es ; 
How that expectant eager gaze ran o'er 
The little space 'twixt couch and the tent door ! 



" Where are the boys ? The sun is going down, 
And I am going. Must I die alone, 
And no one here to take my message home ? 
It's getting darker — footsteps ! Here they come ! 
Oh, Tom, you're here. I had begun to fear 
That }ou forgot — some water — both come near. 



I'm goinn', boys ! Take back this rin<4- and curl 

To Mary, Jack, and kiss my little girl. 

You'll do it? Thanks! Tom, dear old mate, good-by. 

Cheer up, Joe ; — don't take on ; you mustn't die — 

I must. Remember, these to Mary — your word keep. 

It's getting dark — so tired — yes, yes, I'll sleep. 

I cannot see, but feel your hand in mine." 



The sun's last rays on his sad features shine. 
He sinks to rest, but in that blest repose 
That in this world no hour of wakiui"- knows. 




THANKSGIVING NIGHT 



'THE FARMER SAT IN HIS GREAT ARM-CHAIR 



THANKSGIVING NIGHT 

TDRIGIIT burned the tire on the farmer's hearth, 

But the snow tell thiek and fast. 
And the earth was robed in mantle white, 

While hoarsely howled the blast. 
Old Winter blew his breath ui' frost 

And the white wreaths whirled around. 
Or sang amid the leafless trees. 

With sad and mom-nful sound. 



The old eloek tieked in the corner dark. 

But its face, so broad and white. 
Seemed to look with a smile on the happ}- group 

In the ring of the red firelight. 
Old puss was there in corner snug. 

And in comfort purred away, 
Or rolled his yellow eyes around 

And smoothed his whiskers gray. 



The farmer sat in his great arm-chair, 

With his good wife at his side. 
And he looked around, with a swelling heart 

And a thrill of joy and pride. 
On the sturdy youths so strong and tall, 

On the buxom maidens fair. 
And tiie merry little urchins all 

That sported nnuid him there. 



48 



And the brothers and sisters laughed and talked 

With many a merry shout, 
As they sat around the happy hearth, 

Nor heeded the storm without. 
But deeply sighed the farmer's wife, 

As the chill wind louder roared, — 
She thought of one far, far away, 

On the ocean billows broad. 



Ah ! one there was, a wayward boy, 

Long tossed on the heaving sea ; 
In such a dark and fearful night. 

Where could the wanderer be ? 
The}' spoke of him, the absent one. 

The son and brother true, 
And breathed a prayer for the sailor boy 

On heaving billows blue. 



Still faster fell the drifting snow 

And whirled in wreaths about, 
When faint on the blast that hurried by 

Came the sound of a distant shout. 
The farmer's dog through the snowdrift dashed 

With a bark of wild delight. 
And the circle round the hearthstone now 

Forsook its blaze so britrht. 



But the storm was wild, the night was dark. 

As they gazed from the casement out ; 
Naught could they see in the gathering ghjom 

But the snow that whirled about. 
Then spake the farmer to his son, 

" Some traveller's lost, I fear : 
Go seek the wanderer in the storm, 

And bid him welcome here." 




■ WHEN FAINT ON THE III.AST THAT HURRIED BY 
CAME THE SOUND OF A DISTANT SHOUT " 



But, as he spoke, the broad okl door 

Back on its hinges swung. 
And with welcome shout amid the group 

The hjng-lost brother sprung. 
A fond embrace from his mother dear, 

Hands pressed and kisses warm, 
And a prayer of thanks lor the sailor boy 

Returned home safe irom harm. 




" A FOND EMBRACE KUOM HIS MOTHER DEAR ' 



Oh, rare were the tales he told to them 

Of life on the dark sea-tbam. 
And of wondrous sig-hts in forei<;'n elimes, 

Far Irom his own lo\ed home. 
And happy were all that sat around 

The farmer's hre so bright. 
For joyfulh' brothers and sisters all 

Kept that Thanksgiving night. 



54 




^V%u 






nO/neWARD BOUND 



we'll whirl the capstan round ' 



HOMEWARD BOUND 

/^N deck all hands ! The lively breeze 

Is blowing fresh and free, 
And through the rattling cordage now, 

It pipes right merril}. 
Heave up the heavy anchor, men ; 

We'll whirl the capstan round 
With song and rousing chorus all, 

For we are homeward bound ! 



Far, far astern the dusky shore 

Fades fast awa}- from view. 
And forward now the sailor sights 

Old ocean's billows blue. 
About the prow the wild waves raise 

Their curling crests of spray. 
As onward in her swift career 

Our good ship bears away. 




\V\\ ^ 



" FAR, FAR ASTERN THE DUSKY SHORE " 



The crackling canvas bends the mast, 

There's music in the sound ; 
Fair wind, my lads, alow, aloft, — 

Hurrah ! we're homeward bound ! 
The wild waves dash, and madl}' break 

In sparkling sheets of foam, — 
On deck all hands ! Make sail, make sail I 

For we are bound for home ! 




"MAKE SAIL, MAKE SAIL!" 



Wc leave behind a foreign shore. 

We're out to sea, my men ! 
An ocean's boisterous welcome greets 

The whole ship's crew again. 
Sweethearts and wives the toast to-night. 

So pass the can around ; 
The wind's abaft, the sails are set, 

Hurrali ! we're homeward boimd ! 



60 




SWEETHEARTS AMI WIVES THE TOAST TO-NICHT " 



THE TEST OF TIME 



TUrOW fair the da}-, how bhic the sk}', 
How sweet the breeze is blowing I 
And pleasure sparkles in each eye, 
How bright life's stream is flowing- ! 



Dear jolly Jaek, my schoolmate true, 
We're each to each as brother; 

'Tis boyhood now, but all life through 
We'll stand bv one another. 



62 



School da3-s are past, and now in pride. 
With youth's ambition burning. 

We're students — and with conscious stride 
We tread the halls of learning. 

There's Harry Brock, the farmer's son, 

Flere with his rustic knowledge; 
He's well enough, but not the one 

To chum with us at college. 

Well, jolly Jack, class day is done, 
Now who stands first recorded .'' 

Why, Harry Brock, the farmer's son ! 
Not those we first applauded. 



Yes, classmates, we must call him up 
For this our farewell party; 

To-night with us to drain a cup 
With wishes warm and hearty. 



Where are they now, so bright and gay ? 

A\niere those with whom we started ? 
How close we stood when broke the day. 

How soon our paths were parted. 

Ah ! jolly jack, thy words were breath, 

Thy 3'outhful pledges broken, 
Phv boyhood's friend forgot, but death 

Shall keep reproach unspoken. 



64 



Come round the board ! Who heeds the eall ? 

No friendships now to barter. 
'Tis fifty years, so let us all 

Pledge dear old alma-mater. 

What, only one who takes my hand 

And answers to my calling ! 
But two left of that youthful band ? 

How fast our tears are falling ! 

True Harry Brock, here's hand and heart 

As old times now come o'er us. 
One loving cup now, ere we part, 

To those who've gone before us. 



6? 




TO AN ANTIQCR GOBLET 



TO AN ANTIQUE GOBLET 

T TAIL, massive old relic of years that are gone, 

Of knighthootrs old days that forever have flown! 
Then circling within thee, to burst at thy brim. 
Uprose the bright bubbles that merrily swim ; 
When oft in those old feudal times at the board. 
All sparkling and bright the red liquor was poured, 
'Neath armor and banners that hung on the wall, 
In tlie Bash of the torches that lia;hted the hall. 



How the hoarse voices shout and the scarred faces shine 
As they clash cup to cup with " Success to the vine ! " 
While the grizzled old baron, the chief of the band. 
Uplifts the old goblet on high in his hand. 
But list ! The wild sound of the revel has ceased. 
And hushed for a while is the din of the feast; 
'Tis the voice of the minstrel, whose melod}' rings 
To his magical touch sweeping over the strings. 




WHILE THE GRIZZLED OLD BARON, THE CHIEF OF THE BAND, 
UPLIFTS THE OLD GOBLET ON HIGH IN HIS HAND " 



Now sweetly he chants the soft music of love, 
And the strains float awa}' in the arches above. 
Then of heroes and valor and combat he sings. 
Till the hall with the shout of the battle-field rings ; 
How mournfully breaks, like moan of the surge, 
The death chant of warriors in notes of the dirge. 
Till waked from its sadness a livelier strain 
Flows on in melodious measure again. 



How oft at such revels, old cup, hast thou been ! 

Oh, couldst thou but tell of sights thou hast seen. 

Of the dark-bearded mouths that ha\e pressed at thy 

rim. 
The red lips of beauty that breathed o'er the brim ! 
And hast thou e'er held the dark, poisonous draught 
That the victim of tyrants or treachery quaflcd. 
Till, thoughtless and smiling, with thee in his grasp. 
The cold hand of death had unloosened his clasp ? 




'THE DEATH CHANT OF WARRIORS IN NOTES OF THE DIRGE" 




'BY THE SIDE OF THE SUFFERERS, rAI-l.lD WITH PAIN, 
THOU HAST HELD THE PORE NECTAK THAT CHEERED THEM AGAIN ' 



By the side of the sufterers, pallid with pain. 

Thou hast held the pure nectar that cheered them again; 

In the hand of the maiden, the grasp of the knight, 

And glowing with deep rosy wine in the light. 

Ah ! what hast thou seen as the ages have flown. 

And left thee, old goblet, still gleaming, alone? 

Where are they that then drained thee, the young and 

the brave ? 
All, all of them vanished — gone down to the grave. 



And the deeds of those rugged old ritters of yore, 

They glimmer but faintly in history's lore ; 

Their battles, their feasts, and retainers so true, 

Have faded away from our memories, too ; 

But I dream, as I gaze on this massy old cup. 

Of the old feudal days — so again till it up ; 

For once more in its depths the red liquor shall shine. 

And we'll pledge the old knights in a bumper of wine. 




' ONCR MORE I\ ITS DEI'TllS THK UK]) LIOIOR SHALL SHINE' 




ynE/ncNTOS 




' LOVEn FORMS IN FANCV LIVE ON'CE MORE " 



MEMENTOS 



T~\EAR treasured relics of the past. 

Time tades, but memory holds you fast. 
For glancing back at youthful Acars, 
Each springlike scene again appears ; 
Loved forms in fancy live once more, 
Brought froin the true heart's treasure-store ; 
In memory's ring some gems, still bright, 
vShine out in age's fadini,^ light. 



Memento of an hour of love, — 
'Tis all I have, — this little glove. 
Again I see thy smile, Lizette ; 
Thy music-laugh enchants me yet, 




" IN WILD WALTZ AT THE MASQUERADE "' 



As when I heard it first, dear maid. 

In wild waltz at the masquerade. 

Swift years have flown since then, but this 

Recalls to me a dream of bliss. 



A little bunch of billet-doux, 
A crushed and faded violet, too. 
How in the leaves that now I turn 
The tires of j'outhful passion burn ! 
Bright heart-hopes on the pages gleam- 
Mere bubbles of the sunlit stream. 
The cherished idol of that hour 
Lives but within this withered flower. 




•si^Ss^ 



'•A LITTLE BUNCH OK lilLLKT-DOUX ' 



78 



Here rests a lock of auburn hue, 
Bound with a faded ribbon blue. 
Oh ! what an hour of happiness, 
That gave to me that little tress ! 
How dark the eyes that flashed among 
Thy clustering curls that thickly hung ! 
This truant severed from thy brow — 
It bring-s to mind a broken vow. 



79 



Ah ! here's a tress — a glorious one — 
That gleams all golden in the sun ; 
This was thy parting gift to me, 
My own, my blue-eyed Rosalie. 
Thy gentle eyes and snow}- brow ! 
In dreams I gaze upon them now ; 
For o'er th}- form the wild waves beat- 
The white surge is thy winding sheet. 




"THE WHITE SURGE IS TIIV VVI.NIJIXC. SHEET' 



80 



Last of my treasures ! While I gaze, 
And thoughts flit back to childhood's days, 
Why is it that entranced I stand, 
This little locket in my hand ? 
'Tis the fond look that greets me there 
From those sweet eyes so mild and fiiir ; 
Back rolls the Hight of years, and then 
Once more I am a bo}' again. 




' OXfE MORE I'M KNEELING AT THY SIDE" 



Once more Tm kneeling at thy side, 
Again I hear thee gentl}' chide ; 
Thy phicid smile, thy tender tones. 
Once more my thrilling bosom owns. 
A mist is floating o'er my sight. 
The vision dims as fading light. 
What's this upon my cheek? — A tear 
It falls for thee, my Mother dear. 



A RHINE LEGEND 

"D ED flashed the flickering torches' flame 

In the old baronial hall, 
As round the board the vassals came 

At their feudal master's call. 
Full two score stout retainers bold 

Filled high their goblets bright, 
And quarted from out their cups of gold 

The rich red wine that night. 



Rude was the revel — long and high 

Rang laugh and song and shout. 
Though vivid lightning rent the sky 

And thunder pealed without. 
For full three daj-s the furious blast 

Had beat on the castle wall, 
And held the baron prisoner fast 

In his old ancestral hall. 




"f^ET^"'^ 



"VIVID LIGHTNING RENT THE SKY' 



His^h o'er the bright Rhine's flowing tide 

Doth the grim old castle frown. 
And the warder watches far and wide ; 

From the turret looks he down. 
" Fill high, my bold retainers true," 

The baron shouts aloud ; 
"We'll drink, mv men, till the sky is blue, 

And heaven without a cloud." 



86 




■CUP CLINKS TO CUP AROUND THE HALL' 



Cup clinks to cup around the hall, 

Fast flows the ruddy wine ; • 

But faster yet the rain-drops tall, 
And brighter the lightnings shine. 

"What, ho ! My laithlul warder true, 
Canst thou yet see the sky ? 

Mount ! mount the highest turret through, 



And shout my battle-cry ! 



87 



Back came the warder, drenched and pale 

" My lord, 'tis a fearful night ; 
The rain-drops pour, the wild winds wail. 

And the lightnings flicker bright. 
Far down the ^•ale sounds the convent-bell 

All i'aint "mid the tempest's roar. 
And tlie hoi)- monks their dark beads tell. 

As they pray for the sun once more." 




" AMI I HE Hill \' Ml 



Still howls the storm. "•Will muttering prayers 

Stop the lightning and the rain ? 
Let the lazy monks still patter theirs, 

But ril to mj' wine again." 
With his goblet high in his stout hand tossed, 

The baron shouts aloud, 
" 'Tis a bitter shame that our booty's lost 

By the rain-drops of the cloud." 



" So pledge, my bold retainers all ! " 

Cried he, with a fearful oath ; 
" Since Heaven is deaf, on the Fiend I call ; 

Fair sky and the Fiend — pledge both ! " 
Cup rang to cup as the revellers sprang 

With a wild shout to their feet ; 
And a deafening peal of thunder rang, 

As heaven to earth did meet. 



Still fester flowed the crimson tide 

Of wine in the banquet hall, 
When an outstretched hand at the baron's side 

Was held by a stranger tall. 
" I drink with all," said the stranger-guest, 

" From the deep wine-cup to-night ! 
'Tis a gallant pledge from a fearless breast, 

And will brino- fair skies with lijjjht/' 



The baron looked from his chair of state 

And he saw the feast was done, 
For of all the two score guests that sate 

There now remained but one. 
The o'erturned cups and flagons tall, 

The board all splashed with wine. 
And the heavy breath of the stout men, all 

Confessed the potent vine. 



90 



He filled the cup of the stranger guesi, 
As the)' sat at the board alone, 

And pledged again with oath and jest, 
As the castle-bell tolled One ! 




' AND PLEDGED AGAIN WITH OATH AND JEST " 



" What, ho ! My warder, see'st the sk)' ? 

Do the rain-drops iall as fast ? 
Up ! up once more to the turret high, 

And see if the storm be past ! " 



'' Hold ! " said his guest. " Mount wc the stair ! 

And look on a cloudless night ! 
I promised thee skies clear and fair 

Should greet the morrow's light." 
The golden sun with its cheei'ful beams 

Shines bright through the festal hall ; 
On the scattered cups it glows and gleams 

From the armor on the wall. 



Roused from their slumber round the board, 

The revellers rose to greet 
The baron bold, the castle's lord ; 

But empty was his seat. 
" The morn has come, the sun is here, 

The skies are blue again ; 
Where stays the ritter — doth he fear 

To lead his gallant men ? " 



92 




• SHINES BRIGHT THROUGH THE FESTAL HALL " 



No voice replies. Then wildl\' seeks 

That band each ancient hall ; 
With fluttering hearts and pallid cheeks 

They mount the castle wall. 
High up the winding turret-stair 

The trembling warder led ; 
On the last broad step, o'er the threshold bare, 

La\- the baron — stark and dead. 




A WESTERN IDYL 

" LTELLO, stranger ! Pull up and 'light ; 

Yer tired, I reckon, an' yer boss blowed — 
Lead him to the corn-crib, stay h'yar to-night. 

You're a woodsman ? Yes, I knowed 
By your rifle, knife, and tomahawk 

You'd seen work, as we have here. 
'Light, stranger ! Have a smoke an' talk. 

Take some red e3'e? — Don't drink? That's queer; 
But a man of your build an' them scars. 

Besides sendin' sure shots after a deer, 
Must hev font redskins, painters, and bars." 



95 



" Thanks, friend. I will 'light, I need rest. 

Yes, we'll have a smoke ; I'll stop here 
One night at least as your guest. 

True, I've shot panthers and killed deer 
And redskins, as you'd say, ' a heap.' 

Not one of the cursed savage crew 
Comes in my range but his death leap 

Follows my rifle shot — the aim's true. 
Seen fights ? Look! This scar a Comanche knife. 

This a Pawnee bullet ; the last he shot. 
And squared the score with his wretched life. 



96 



)vH^ 



I T^i 






-J 



X. }* 



' '' I 










'THANKS, FRIEMJ. I WILL 'LIGHT, I NEED REST' 



•^Yes, they all 'went under;' but I've sought 

Something beside redskins. A little one, my ehild — 
Ma3'hap you've never heard. Well, it's ten 3'ears now 

I've tracked this Indian country wild. 
\^ain search, indeed; but I have kept my vow, 

Though sick at heart as the years go by 
And still no trace of her. Don't mind, friend ; 

'Tis womanish, I know, — this watery eye. 
Just hear my story to the end. 

" I came out trom the East with my young wife 
And little child, here to the border land. 

I knew then nothing of the settlers' life, — 
No matter why I came, — I longed to stand 

Unquestioned and untrammelled, a free man. 



98 



And so, thouii'h city born and taught at college, 
I left the haunts of men. My fancy ran 

For a free life, to gain a hunter's knowledge, 
To own broad acres o\er which to roam, 

To sla}^ the wolf, to hunt the bounding deer, 
And thought — vain dreamer! — 'twas a happy home 

With loving ones to sweeten exile here. 
Well, years ago, to make the story short, 

I built my home beside this very stream, 
Six or eight miles below, and never thought 

Like mist would melt awa}' my happ}' dream. 
One autumn day I left my child and wife 

For a long forest tramp. A fool was I, 
Leaving those dearer to me than my life, 

Unguarded there, a cruel death to die. 



Returned at night, I found my cabin ashes, 

And tliere — O God! it was a fearful sight! — 
Her fair white forehead cleft in gory gashes, 

Lav my dead wife beside the embers' light. 
That frightful scene ! What wonder I was wild. 

It wcjunds me now the sa\age deed to tell. 
Oh, how I wept and called on wife and child. 

Raved like a drunken madman, and then fell 
Prostrate and senseless, till the autumn rain 

Dropped on my brow like heaven's gentle tear, 
And I revi\ed, and then was calm again. 

And knelt bv mv lost home an oath to swear. 




■ KNELT liY MY LOST HOME AN OATH TO SWEAR 



The oath ? Ah, I see j'ou guess it. 

Death to the redskin! Ay, 'tis well kept. 
A bloody vengeance — I confess it. 

But think — if otten when you slept 
You saw her face all gashed and gory, 

And sought a little child for whom you wept, ■ 
But, friend, vou tire of my sad stor^'." 



"No, stranger. The smoke's in my eyes, 

And kinder makes 'em water ; 
But thar's a savin', 'Hope never dies;' 

And ez fur vour little darter — 
Listen to my story to match yourn. 

'Bout ten ^■ear ago thar war on a tramp. 
Hunter |im. me, old Joe Powderhorn, 

And four others : a right smart camp. 



We were mectin' Injin sign and sharp a bit. 

When Jim kim in — he'd been on scout — 
An' sez he, ' Boys, you must get up an' git, 

Fur I tell 3e thar is 'Rapahoes about, 
An' their war party's agin white folks ; 

For I've stalked their camp, an' thar. 
While the\' war haltin' and havin' smokes, 

I saw the long scalp ot" woman's har 
Hangin' down from one feller's belt ; 

An' the3''d a captive, a little child, 
A gal — a white one ! 1 kin tell ve I felt 

As ef I'd the buck agur an' kind of wild. 



I wunted to draw bead on the cuss, I did, — 

I knowed the scalp belonged to the mother. 
The red devils, I seed as I lay hid. 

Swung it in the child's face, one an' another, 
To frighten the little one, an' set her cryin'.' 

No need to grit yer teeth, stranger ; it's Injin natur. 
You can't change it in 'em, it's no use tryin' 

To make civilized humans of 'em ; it's better 
To rub 'em all out. But ez I was sayin', 

That war party was squatted for the night, 
An' we didn't believe in their goin', but stayin' ; 

An' the upshot was a right smart tight. 




ir--.^ 




" AN' THE UPSHOT WAS A RIGHT SMART FU;H-| 



There war seven of our fellers — of redskins ten, 

So it was nip an' tuck for a while, by thunder ! 
We didn't mfnd fightin' ; I was 3-ounger then. 

Well, stranger, the redskins all went under. 
Did we suffer .'' There was hunter Jim 

Shot through the shoulder, and Pete Wild, 
My old mate, — well, we buried him ; 

But, stranger, we saved the little child ! 
How bright she was, her curls like gold ; 

Couldn't talk plain, nor tell who she was, 
Only her name — Gracey — a two-year-old. 



io6 



So yer see I adopted her, because 
The old woman got lonesome with me away. 

And we were goin\ an' did pack up an' git. 
Soon as I kim back, — the very next day, — 

To iurder west than eny settler yit. 
But we're back agin now after ten year ; 

That's Gracey, now, comin' in thar at the door 
An', stranger, look in this old chist — see here ! 

This yere's the very little frock she wore 
When we captured her in the Injin hglit. 



But hello ! What makes yc look so wild ? 
Yer shakin' like the agur — ycr face all white ; 

An' Gracev — wh\-, how yer starin' at the child ! " 



'' Why do I gaze ? Ah, "tis no dream ! I see 
My dear wife's smile in the bright youthful face 

Of this sweet girl with golden locks — 'tis she, 

Mv cliild ! mv child ! Dear, long-lost darling Grace !" 



io8 



1 1 '' 




~ >* 



■AN' GRACEY — WHY, HOW YER STARIN' AT THE iHILIi 



MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN 

TI7AIR maid of the mountain, a farewell to thee. 

Sweet wild flower of beauty, so joyous and free ; 
O'er the wild Alpine passes, with footstep as light, 
Hast thou fled like a vision, so airy and bright. 
'Mid thine own nati\e hills that in grandeur arise 
To the blue bending azure of Switzerland's skies. 
Thy voice clear and sweetlv, through cavern and glen, 
Floats forth, and the echoes repeat it again. 



'Mid the snow-crested peaks to the Switzer so dear, 
How happ3- the chant of the free mountaineer ! 
And thy song with its musical melody seems 
Still to ring in mj- ear, still to float in my di-eams. 
In the halls of the palace, where jewels were bright 
And soft eyes have sparkled as gems in the light. 
Have I gazed on the forms of fair maids of degree, 
But none were, my sweet mountain maiden, like thee. 



When far in the land of the stranger I roam. 

Or ride over ocean's blue billows of foam. 

Full oft in my visions thy face will appear, 

And fancy again waft thy song to my ear. 

I linger to bid the huge hill-tops adieu. 

Stretching tar their brown peaks 'neath the canopy blue 

Good-by to the crags, to the cavern and dell. — 

Fair maid of the mountain, forever farewell. 



THE VILLAGE CHURCH-BELL 

TN youth's happv day — ah, we loved it so well ! — 

The musical chime of the village church-bell, 
In the white, slender spire — 30U remember it, Joe ! 
When we were both bo^■s in the country, you know. 

How on Sundays it sang on the sweet summer air, 
And summoned us all to the meeting-house there. 
But I tear that we bovs, il" you must ha\e the truth, 
Came to church oft to worship oiu" sweethearts of youth. 




^■^Hiv V. 




-%*i««W?«* 



^»v^ 



' WHEN WE WERE BOTH BOYS IN THE COUNTRY, YOU KNOW 



For ni)'' heart was first lighted with love's holy fire 
By the eyes of a girl in the old village choir. 
In fanc}- I longed, as that maiden would sing, 
To hear lor our wedding the \illage bell ring. 

We loved and we parted in grief and in tears ; 
Ah, what was my sorrow, so keen in 30uth"'s jears. 
When, as speeding away, came, like distant farewell. 
Sweet and faintly, the musical chime of the bell. 

Ere life's rugged journey was half travelled o'er 
I longed to return to the village once more; 
Where years ago, Joe. — God bless you, old man ! 
In the da^s of our bojhood our friendship began. 



I came, and once more, over hillside and dell, 
Float again, as in youth, the sweet notes of the bell. 
But see! As I come to the old village church. 
What train is it slowly goes forth from the porch? 

It winds through the churchyard! Now silently stand, 
Grouped around a new grave, a sorrowful band. 
I join it with rcv'rence, and then, drawing near. 
Look down on the fair one borne forth on the bier. 

Ah, Joe ! it is she, the sweet singer we knew, 
Once the wife of your bosom, so loving and true! 
Hands long parted we grasp as the funeral knell 
Is solemnly tolled by the village church-bell. 



"5 



THE MOUNTAIN CASCADE 

"PAR down the wild mountain and from the steep 

height 
For ages thy waters have leaped with delight ; 
From cloud-circled birthplace and cradle on high, 
'Mid peaks that seem rising to kiss the blue sk}'. 
In swift-flowing freedom thy wild waves have run. 
That smile in the moonbeams and laugh in the sun. 
Till in fresh-flashing rapids the valley they greet, 
In musical murmurs of joy at ni}- Icet. 




How oft, when the mountains 
with sunset were tipped. 

The stag of thy moss-margined 
waters has sipped, 

Or when morn's early sunbeam 
has heralded day, 

The eagle's broad pinion flashed 
high o'er thy spray ! 

Bv thy bright gleaming billows 
the Indian hath trod. 

And heard in their dashings the 
\oice of his God ; 

Or fancied thy murmurs in deep- 
bosomed glen 

The :\ranit()u's mystical whisper 
to men. 



Here, scooped by th}- glittering eddies of foam, 
Deep in the dark forest — the savage's home — 
Thy sweet mossy basins are filled to the brim, 
Beneath the broad branches that bend to their rim. 
And here in the aisles of the glorious wood, 
Where naught but the winds break the vast solitude, 
Would the chiefs dusky daughter delight to recline, 
And in thy liquid mirror her features define. 



Sweeping 'neath the deep shade of the sentinel trees. 
That shout to the storm wind, or challenge the breeze, 
Thy broad sheet of silver, with grass-margined side, 
Reflects each little tendril that trails o'er the tide. 
Scarce flutter the ripples that play on its breast, 
So calm in the shadow and silent its rest, — 
Fit place for the mirror of Indian coquette 
To twine her dark tresses at syhan toilette. 



ii8 



Years leave on thy surface no trace of their flight. 
For in freshness of jouth flow thy waters so bright ; 
Still leap they the cliff and still float in the glen, 
While fade from the earth generations of men. 
Life passes away like thy swift-gliding stream, 
Its pleasures and prizes mere bubbles that gleam 
As in triumph they float, iridescent and bright. 
But by a breath shattered, they vanish from sight. 

Broad stream of the mountain, exhaustless and free. 
Pour on thy pure tribute toward the blue sea ; 
Teach us that the passions that agitate life. 
That raise in man's bosom commotion and strife, 
May, like thy roused waters, in thunder and spray. 
Urged on by the tempest, rush mad on their way ; 
Or like the wild billows in tumult be tossed, 
Till in the deep sea of eternity lost. 



A TURKISH BAG-A-TELLE 

/"ALD Hassan was a fisherman — 

A INIussulman was he; 
Though clamorous in the marketplace, 
Too selfish he could be. 

Though honest, he " hooked " all he could. 

With net gains he was gay. 
And though his hands were filled with scales, 

He never had his wa\'. 



For he and other fishermen 

Paid to the Sultan's purse 
A tribute — but they turned and said, 

This is the Bos-phor-us. 

To Mecca turning, oft he called 
The prophet's aid in vain, — 

To make-a call for profits, that 
His neighbors thought insane. 

When once, about the close of day. 
His own clothes nearly gone, 

He thought to try his nets and see 
If he should longer mourn. 



The nets came slowly in to shore, 
Filled with a heavy weight, 

And Hassan, though no fish are seen, 
His hope does not abate. 

For in his net there lay a sack — 

The Sultan's seal it bore ! 
Was 't to in-sult-an honest man 

Fate sends this to the shore ? 

He bore it to the monarch straight. 
Though 'neath the load he bent; 

The Sultan in the palace was 
On business, though, in-tent. 



He heard old Hassan tell his tale, 

And found his story true; 
The sack that Hassan brought, though old. 

The Sultan thought he knew. 

He told him to bear back the sack. 
Though his bare back was sore; 

And these two bears now proved to be 
A most decided bore. 

" Go, throw it in the deepest wave, 

As deep as deep can be, 
And when the river's dark and still. 

And no one out to sea; 



"And take this bag of gold yourself, 

For honesty has charms." 
So Hassan, though a Mussulman, 

Then had two sacks-in-arms. 

The Sultan smiled, the deed was done, 
When Hassan hastened back: 

" An honest one shall fill his bag, 
The false one fills a sack." 



A SURPRISE PARTY 

'" I ^WAS the season of spring, when the flowerets 

appear 
And fair maidens bid welcome the opening year; 
The air soft and bahny, and lovely the day, 
And the pave was all thronged with the grave and the 
gay, 

When Tom F , known by all as a glorious soul, 

With his friend sauntered out on the street for a stroll. 

How graceful his bow to the ladies he knew, 

How hearty his greeting to gentlemen, too! 

Fashion's votaries all hnd a place in the throng, 

And bright as gay bubbles are floating along. 

Tom criticised shrewdly each one of the fair, 

And eyed all he met with a keen, knowing air, 

Till walking before him he sees a fair form; 

Then in rapture he speaks, in its praise he is warm. 



125 



" What a figure ! By heavens, what motions of grace ! 

A Venus ! Oh, but for one glance at her face ! 

Blest moment ! " cried Tom, as the lady let fall 

Her fan from the half-loosened folds of her shawl. 

Rushing forward he raised it, and with a low bow 

Returns it with grace and a compliment now. 

The lad}' turned round and, raising her veil, 

Smiled on Tom, who that instant turned fearfully pale. 

O'er each feature now mute astonishment stole. 

For the face of the damsel was black as a coal. 

" How now ? '' cried his friend, as he joined him again ; 

"What think you? — who is she.? — the lady you've 

seen ; 
Why so silent, my boy? You must tell me, I vow, 
What you think of the lady you spoke with just now." 
" I think her," quoth Tom, as he strode up the street, 
"An angel to follow — the devil to meet." 



126 



THE GREAT PEACE JUBILEE 

LINES READ IN THE WELCOME SPEECH TO THE REPRESENTATIVES OF THE 

PRESS OF THE UNITED STATES AT THE PEACE JUBILEE 

IN BOSTON JUNE IS 1 869 

/^OME North and South, and East and West, 

And meet with cordial greeting ; 
Once more beneath the sway of peace. 
The nation's heart is beating. 

No more upon the trembling wires 

The news of war is flying ; 
No more our pleasant fields are strewn 

With gor}- dead and dying. 

Hushed is war's trumpet — summer gales 

The notes of peace are blowing, 
And o'er our heads — God grant it long! — 

The Union stars are glowing. 



Across the prairie's broad expanse, 

The iron bands that span it 
Bring California's greeting to 

New England's hills of granite. 

Maine's forests, Pennsylvania's plains, 
The shores the lakes are laving, 

The garden lands 'neath southern skies, 
Where orange groves are waving. 

Break forth in one harmonious chant, 

A glorious hosanna, — 
" Let us have peace and unity 

Beneath our country's banner." 



130 



Ye wielders of the mighty power 
That sways both prince and peasant, 

May all your ways be those of peace, 
And all your paths be pleasant. 

Praise we the pen, that trenchant wand; 

Our best, our last endeavor 
To wield with honor that, the true 

Archimedean lever. 

And thus we pray, while in rude rhyme 
This welcome warm is spoken: 

United hearts — United States ! 
God keep the chain unbroken ! 



BOSTON TO CALIFORNIA 

LINES READ AT THE FESTIVAL OF THE UNION CLUB OF SAN FRANCISCO, 
GIVEN TO THE BOSTON BOARD OF TRADE EXCURSION PARTY JUNE 24 
1870 ON THE OCCASION OF THE FIRST TRANSATLANTIC TRIP 



H' 



"OW weak are mere words 

From the heart overflowing, 

To tell its emotions or seek to convey 

Thoughts that thrill all its chords, 

When true warmth 'tis glowing, 

And every base passion has faded away ! 



'Tis thus that we stand 

To respond to your greeting, 
Fellow countrymen all, 'neath our banner of stars j 
And we stretch forth each hand 
To clasp yours at meeting. 
Our brothers in peace and our comrades in wars. 



Where the granite shaft gray 
Of Bunker Hill rises, 
To tell that our fathers braved tyranny's shock ; 
Where the sparkling spray 
Of the blue wave baptizes 
The shore of our birth-place and old Plymouth Rock ; 



Where the rising sun's ray 

Lights the streets of old Concord, 
And Lexington's plain lies in peaceful repose, 
There shines Plymouth bay, 
Where the "Mayflower" was anchored, — 
'Tis Old Massachusetts that every one knows. 



133 



But why need I tell 

Of these spots all so hallowed ? 
America's story on history's page — 
You know it full well, 

And you mark what has followed: 
The triumph of freedom, the march of the age. 



Scarce a centur3''s flow 

Our country's veins filling, 
In age 'mid the nations in infancy ^et ; 
But the beams on her brow 
To the old world are telling. 
Our pole star is progress — that never shall set. 



J 34 



Like the wonder of dreams, 
Or some old Eastern story. 
These cities seem rising at magic's behest; 
But learning's light gleams, 
Art shines in its glory. 
The footsteps of enterprise point to the West. 



When treason awoke. 
And war's desolation 
Wrote ruin and death with its fingers of flame. 
As we gazed through the smoke 
There the flag of our nation, 
Unfurled in the Golden State, floated the same. 



135 



Ah ! what loyal heart 

But then thrilled with emotion, 
At the stars faintly seen in the far sunset glow ! 
What shall sever apart, 

Stretched from ocean to ocean. 
The strong bond of Union uniting us now ? 



War's thunders have ceased, 
Peaceful skies are o'erarching ; 
Sections' hate and fierce feuds may we never recall, 
But North, South, West and East, 

'Neath our old flag we're marching, — 
United we stand, but divided we fall. 



136 



THE COMMERCIAL CLUB 

LINES READ AT THE CHICAGO COMMERCIAL CLUB FESTIVAL IN 1 877 ON 

THE OCCASION OF THE VISIT OF THE COMMERCIAL CLUB 

OF BOSTON TO THAT CITY. 

IVTOW fill the cup, and let the feast 

More joyous be to ever)* guest — 
Old three-hilled cit}^ of the East, 

Thy name's thrice honored at the West. 

Far towards the rising sun we glance. 

And catch the glitter of his ray 
Where blue waves shine in sparkling dance 

Within old Massachusetts bay. 



There stands the shaft on Bunker's height, 

And on 3'On steeple o'er the tide 
Looked Paul Revere for warning light 

Ere spurred he on his midnight ride. 

The Old South Church, the State House dome. 
Old King street, Common, Faneuil Hall, — 

As loving eyes turn fondly home, 
How inany memories ye recall ! 

Old mother city of our land. 

We love to read thy name and story; 

But 'tis not thine alone to stand 

As claimant for thy country's glory. 



138 



Thy beauteous sisters of the West, 

North, South, and East, o'er all tlic nation, 

The stars of our own Union blest, 
Shine now a perfect constellation. 

Together gleam they pure and bright, 
A circlet that no hand shall sever. 

And one whose beams of glorious light 
Shall blaze before the world forever. 



TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 

ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY AUGUST 29 1 889 

T^EAR poet of our j'outhful da^'s, 

Thy flowing verse, thy graceful lays, 
So musical in rounded rhyme, 
Thev charm us still in manhood's time; 
For, though our locks be tinged with frost, 
None of thy magic power is lost. 
With retrospective glance, the sight 
Looks back to years when hearts were light; 
To school-boy days dear memor}- glides. 
When rang th}' grand " Old Ironsides " 
From tongues whose patriotic fire 
Woke at the fervor of thy lyre. 



"The Spectre Pig," the stranger tall, 

Who stalked unbid to Commons Hall; 

" My Aunt," unmarried and alone, 

The giants, and the pudding-stone; 

And how in merr\' measure ran 

" The Ballad of the Oysterman." 

Now discord grates on nerve and ear; 

" The Music Grinders " still are here, 

But yield to laughter loud and long, 

That greets the tramping " Treadmill Song." 

Thy wit and humor's rattling pace 

Told " How the Old Horse won the Race." 

Who'll e'er forget that's read it, pray, 

''The Story of the One-horse Shay",? 



And then to verse more glorious 

Floats forth "• The Chambered Nautilus." 

With memor3''s tear each cheek is wet, 

And thoughts of sadness or regret 

Mingle with jests o'er sparkling wine, 

When meet the " Class of Twenty-Nine " 

(The i'cw that time has spared), and poise 

Their glasses to this toast — "The Boys." 

What though the fourscore years liave flown ! 

Thy sway, dear "Autocrat," we own; 

Thy torch, triumphant, still shall burn. 

Though Death thy life's " Last Leaf" may turn. 

May many " Hundred Days " go past 

Ere comes the one thou countest last. 



142 



THE OLD SCHOOLBOYS OF BOSTON 

LINES READ AT THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING 
NOVEMBER 1 3 1 889 

I "HE light of youth's fair openiiiQ- day, 
That sparkled in the skj', 
And manhood's strong and steady ray, 
Have both passed swiftly b\'. 

At autumn sunset now we gaze, 

'Mid clouds of glorious hue ; 
How beautiful the fading blaze 

Just sinking from the view! 



143 



'Tis not with sighs or vain regret 

Around the board we meet ; 
With spirits blithe as boyhood yet, 

Our hearts all lightly beat. 

What ho ! The telescope advance ! 

Through memory's magic glass 
We'll take a retrospective glance 

At old scenes as they pass. 

We'll look old Boston Common o'er, 
Where erst our hockies swung, — 

The Frog Pond, iced from shore to shore, 
Where our skate irons run"-. 



We hear the merry hiugh and shout 

Upon the steep hillside, 
Where pelting snowballs fly about 

And gay sleds swiftly glide. 

The picture changes : cannon's din, 

The fluttering banners gay, 
And sounding church-bells " usher in " 

Our Independence Day. 

The Old Elm spreads its grateful shade, 
The stands and booths are here, 

To coax our pennies in their trade 
P'or oysters and spruce beer. 



145 



Pop Emmons' speeches all confuse; 

The soldiery appears — 
Old Rifle Rangers, Winslow Blues, 

And red-coat Fusileers. 

Their plumes and banners ga^'ly float ; 

Was ever sight so grand ? 
List! Martial music's swelling note — 

The glorious Brigade Band. 

Ned Kendall's bugle ! Sweeping past. 
Its pure notes sweetly come, 

Mingled with Bartlett's trumpet-blast 
And old Dan Simpson's drum. 



146 



And how we rushed with vigorous kick 
Our footballs o'er the ground ! 

How, beaten with the stout oak stick, 
Our press hoops whirled around ! 

We played our marbles, spun our tops, 
And when On gambling bent, 

Shook in the ring our china props 
And boldly '' set a cent." 

How quick we were our aid to lend 
To " run with the machine," 

Old " Boston " down at the North End, 
Or " Cataract Fourteen." 



147 



Then at the theatre in our day 

We boys of long ago 
Saw Cooper and Old Pelby play, 
And Rice jump his "Jim Crow." 

Who like old Booth in Richard Third ? 

Where is Ned Forrest's peer ? 
We all have Charlotte Cushman heard, 

John Gilbert and " Old Spear ; " 

Seen Mrs. Barrett's witching glance, 

And graceful Fanny Jones, 
Remember Ellsler's sylph-like dance, 

" Old Cartlitch's " husky tones. 



148 



Ah, boys ! Like scenes in mimic play, 

These pictures of the past 
No ruthless hand can sweep away 

While memor}' shall last. 

I pledge you, and in the account 

Include Old Boston, too ; 
Here, where we quaffed at learning's fount, 

Still let our hearts be true. 

Free from disturbing storms of sect 

Keep those pellucid pools ; 
With voice, with arm, if called, protect 

Old Boston's Public Schools. 



THE OLD SCHOOLBOYS OF BOSTON 

LINES READ AT THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING 
NOVEMBER 1 3 1 89O 



A NOTHER year! How swift they pass,- 
Let's call a halt, my men, 
And see once more in memory's glass 
Ourselves as boys again. 



We'll whirl the wheels of old Time back 

For fifty years or more, 
Forget life's weary, toilsome track. 

And live our boyhood o'er. 



150 



With dancing e3'e and riidd}' cheek, 

Loud lauyh and heart}' cheer, 
Who dares of age's frost to speak 

While sunny youth is here ? 

No judge or reverend sir we know, 

No squires or doctors greet. 
But Sam and Tom and Bill and Joe — 

The boys we used to meet. 

The old school-house we see once more. 

We went as prisoners there. 
Then thought ourselves but slaves bound o'er 

To studies, rules, and care. 



151 



Old R. G. Parker's (grammars three ! 

Our brains how they woiild twist 
To tell the tenses of "• to be," 

Or prepositions list. 

Of, to, for, by, — we ran all through 
Those words in rapid pace, 

Told prepositions, govern, too, 
That old objective case. 

Ah, Emerson ! 'twas easy start. 
Those pictured problems light, 

But struggles in thy old " Third Part " 
Of mathematic misjht. 



152 



How with those puzzling figures we 

All wrestled with ;x will, 
Copied our sums, or bought a " key " 

From Burnham on Cornhill. 

John Pierpont ! Shall we e'er forget 
Thine old First Class Book lore ? 

We prize its precious pages yet, 
And love to turn them o'er. 

Will Shakespeare there we learned to love, 

There '■ Thanatopsis " shines 
With Byron, that poetic Jove, 

And Scott's melodious lines. 



And youthful orators recite, 

From Lovell's Speaker, well 
The tale of that heroic fight 

Where bold Bozzaris fell. 

"Banished from Rome!" We knew them all- 

Those bitter words of hate, 
And every one of us recall 

Casabianca's fate. 

Rienzi's Roman speech we spout, 

And '' Warning " of Lochiel ; 
Or bolder still, for Caesar shout 

Marc Anton3''s appeal. 



154 



These school-boy scenes, do the}' come back 

And warm our hearts again 
Like glowing hands 'neath ruler's whack 

Or master's supple cane ? 

If so, each other's palm we'll press 
While memories round us twine, 

And by that grasp we all will bless 
The daj'S of old lang syne. 



THE OLD SCHOOLBOYS OF BOSTON 

LINES READ Al IHE ANNUAL FKSTIVAL 
NOVEMBER I 9 I 89 I 

A S old campaigners' pulses thrill 
When sounds the bugle blast, 
So beat our hearts with quicker throb 
At voices of the past. 

No weight of years we feel to-night, 

For joj'ous youth shall reign ; 
Once more, with spirits light as air. 

We all are boys again. 



r?6 



Old Boston, — dear, revered old town, — 

Come, let us look her o'er, 
As when we knew her long ago, 

Some fifty years or more. 

Dwight Boyden kept the Tremont House, 
All druggists' names were Brown; 

Doolittle's City Tavern was. 
They said, the best in town. 



The stages forth from Elm street ran 

To all the countr}' round; 
Then '' Old Reed " was our whole police, 

The Common a playground. 



At eve the old town's quiet streets 

Dozed in uncertain light, 
Till ever}' steeple's sounding bell 

Pealed nine o'clock at night. 

The brazen clangor ceased at last, 
And now we hear a voice; 

Hark to the cry ! — It nearer comes: 
"Oys! Oys! Buy any oys?" 

Again those bells with furious peal 
Ring out from e\'ery spire, 

And watchmen's whirling rattles rouse 
The whole town for a tire. 



15S 



The old fire-eng-ines clatter through 

The still deserted street, 
'Mid flaring torches' lurid light 

And rush of hurried feet. 

Then waves ran over Boston Neck, 
And oft on summer nights 

We saw from foot of Beacon street 
The Milldam's string of lights. 

No palace then of millionaire. 
No church nor grand hotel, 

On Back Bay then — it only knew 
The heaving water's swell. 



159 



For Bovlston was a Soutli End street, 
And o'er the whole Back Bay, 

'Mid mud and marsh or wide expanse, 
We saw the wild waves pla}'. 

Then Kelt and Kurtz our bakers were, 

Old Wilson swung his bell, 
And cried lost children through the streets, 

As you remember well. 

In Theatre Alley one could buy 

Grace Dunlap's famous snuff, 
And, if in favor with the dame, 

Some much more potent stuff. 



160 



Old North End mansions, tree-lined streets, 
The long trucks and ox teams, — 

All \anished, to be now recalled 
Like half-forgotten dreams. 

For fondly o'er fimiliar scenes 

We linger to the last, 
As memory's magic mirror shows 

Each picture of the past. 

So now, dear boys, with hearty grasp 

Each other's hands enfold; 
Remember, while our hearts are young 
We never can be old. 



i6i 



THE OLD SCHOOLBOYS OF BOSTON 

LINES READ AT THE ANNUAL FESTIVAL 
NOVEMBER I 5 I 89 2 

/^^LD Schoolbo3s of Boston, a health to you all ! 
To each sturdy veteran that answers the call; 
Bi"ave yesterday's comrades, whose battles are o'er, - 
Old guards of old Boston, together once more ! 

We are boj's once again, and, merry to-night, 
Not one of us heeds half a century's flight; 
Care has fled, age's burden is banished away, 
And every eye bright as in youth's holiday. 



163 



Old Boston, we love her, in youth or in aq-e, 

And are proud of her record on history's page; 

Of the glorious deeds of each patriot son, — 

Of the battles they fought and the freedom they won. 

She is liberty's Mecca, for, turn where we will, 
Here are landmarks of freedom confronting us still. 
Historic old King street — each schoolboy will tell 
That there the first martyrs to liberty fell. 

There the Stamp Act they burn, then at foot of the 

street. 
In the old " Bunch of Grapes," Sons of Liberty meet. 
Old State House! Memento of years that are gone, 
There all the world knows Independence was born. 



163 



Old South's slender spire, it points to the sk}^ 
As when Warren beneath it told danger was nigh; 
And liberty's cradle yet rocks for us all. 
That forum for freemen, our old Faneuil Hall. 

From Old North Church steeple the chimes are still 

rung. 
In the belfry where once warning lanterns were hung. 
The story? You know it; Re\cre's ride at night, 
The regulars' march and the Lexington fight. 

Boston boys of to-day, true as patriots then. 

Hoist up our "Old Glory" and cheer it again; 

The flag that we follow in peace or in wars. 

Our emblem, schoolfellows, the Stripes and the Stars; 



164 



And not as some scribbler may recklessly write, 
A '' mere textile fabric " of red, blue, and white, 
But Union's grand banner, it floats for us all, — 
United we stand, but divided we fall. 

And you in 3'outh's vigor that follow us on 

Our march now approaching to life's setting sun. 

Advance! making this the one motto that rules: 

The flag of our country and free public 

SCHOOLS. 



.LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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